LOGINMy name is Katia, and I am just trying to survive until my fated mate arrives. Which may be easier said than done. Rejectection is the last straw. Whispering my acceptance of his rejection. I run through the pack house, out across the manicured lawn into the forest. "I'm sorry, my sweet girl," I say to my wolf. I'm sorry you have been stuck with me and have had to suffer everything I have. She whispers, "it's not your fault, Katia. " We came to a cliff with a waterfall. The hurt keeps pounding at me. I need it to stop. My sweet girl, and I just want peace, I keep running and leap off the cliff. Spreading my arms wide, with tears streaming down my face, I fall, not making a sound... *** The Snow Moon pack is having their last barbecue of the summer next to the waterfall on their land. The adults are laughing and joking while watching the pups play. Someone yells, “Oh my goddess, someone just jumped over the waterfall!" Everyone is frozen as they watch what looks to be a child falling arms spread wide, no one makes a sound. The alpha, beta, and gamma, spring into action, swimming towards the area the person went under. The alpha is screaming his wolf is going crazy repeating, “Find her. Find her...find her!" They dive and the beta surfaces with a small person in his arms. Alpha takes the girl from his beta, laying her on the ground. The men are shocked by what they see. She is covered in scars and injuries. Her body is twisted and broken. The Beta asks, "Who could have done this to someone so defenseless?" Alpha drops to his knees, repeating, "MATE...MATE...MATE!"
View MoreI don’t make mistakes with scents. That’s the first thing Nolan ever taught me. Anyone can follow a trail when it’s fresh, when fear is loud, and blood is hot. But knowing a scent, recognizing it after months, after distance, after it’s been layered with other packs and other lands, that takes dis
Pearl figured it out, though. She ran. The dead approve of that part. They disapprove of who she’s running from and, apparently, the companion she is running with. Nathan enters a moment later. He looks as tired as Mark does, and I wonder if Lorn seems as exhausted as they do. Not physically—men
The dead don’t mourn the way the living do. They don’t cry. They don’t cling. They don’t spiral into what-ifs and maybes. They remember. And lately, everything they remember keeps circling back to Pearl. Not because she’s gone. Because she’s running. I wake before dawn with that truth already
“No,” Raph corrects, voice dark and edged. “This is who grief has made him. Not who he truly is.” I want to believe him. I want to cling to that truth. But the memory of Tristan’s voice, cold, distant, dangerous, paints itself over everything. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “He thinks I
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